


The Moon Represents My Heart

by afrai



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Baze has all the chill, Childhood Friends, Chirrut Imwe/Original Female Character, Chirrut has no chill, Chirrut is a creeper, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Really AGGRESSIVE pining, Teenage Drama, Tiny space monks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 07:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrai/pseuds/afrai
Summary: Chirrut threw his head back, as though Baze had issued a challenge."I'll leave a mark on you some day," he said. It felt like a promise. Maybe a threat. "You're not a distraction. And it's not a passing fancy."He pointed at Baze – a piece of incivility Baze felt he hardly deserved. "You watch out. I'm going to prove it. The Force is with you, Baze."This was a perfectly conventional thing for one novitiate to say to another, by way of praise or encouragement. It was typical of Chirrut that he should have made it weird.Chirrut pursues Baze. Kids at the Temple fic, spanning a period of 20 years.





	1. 九歲，十歲

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete at over 12,000 words. I'll upload chapters daily till it's done.
> 
> I have recycled names and concepts from my other spiritassassin fic because I'm too lazy to do new worldbuilding. There is no connection between this story and the others, however.
> 
> Thanks to antediluvian and horusporus for spending time with me in the Baze/Chirrut trenches, enduring yelling, thirst, prolixity on the complex simplicity of Baze and Chirrut, and too many other trials to name.

"Oh no," said Hatyai.

"What is it?" said Baze, with a sinking feeling. He already guessed what it must be.

Sure enough, when Baze turned around, there he was. Chirrut Imwe, jogging along the path the two of them had made in the sand.

"One hour of free time!" said Hatyai. "That's all we get." She'd been up in the rafters clearing out cobwebs all morning. Tiredness made her cranky. "And your groupie has to come and ruin it. _Force_."

"Don't say that," said Baze automatically. "Anyway, he only gets an hour too."

But the defence of Chirrut was as instinctive as the reproof. He didn't really mean it. Irritation scratched at him as he watched Chirrut's short legs cover the distance.

"Oh, give over, Baze," said Hatyai. "You ever think maybe scolding me for swearing is against the principle of wuwei? I'm just acting in accordance with my nature, as the Force moves me. Elder Dunya would approve."

"That's not what wuwei means," said Baze, frowning.

"Maybe we could outrun him," said Hatyai, but Chirrut was on them before they could decide to do it.

Chirrut's determination was out of proportion to his size. As with many of the novitiates, necessity, more than piety, had brought him to the Temple. He'd been malnourished when he arrived and he was still catching up. He was small for his age, even compared to the other orphans confided to the care of the Temple.

Baze, on the other hand, had been dedicated by his family to the Temple at birth. It had been his grandparents' wish, and they still visited him regularly, bringing him treats enough to feed his entire age cohort. He'd been well-fed all his life and he towered over the other novitiates. It made him look much older than Chirrut, though there was only the difference of a year between them.

"Brother Baze! Sister Hatyai!" said Chirrut. "What are you doing? Are you playing? Can I come too?"

"We're talking about philosophy," said Hatyai, glancing at Baze. "You wouldn't be interested."

"I'm interested!" said Chirrut. "I can discuss philosophy. I'm great at discussing philosophy. Elder Katyan said I was the quickest thinker in his philosophy group. He gave me a star for my essay on metim – metem – rebirth last week."

Baze reminded himself to be patient. 

"Being quick doesn't always mean being right," he said. He thought this sounded well, like what a big brother should say, but Hatyai rolled her eyes.

"This is why we don't want you," she said to Chirrut, not unkindly. "It's not we don't like you, Chirrut, but Baze gets pompous when you're around."

"The elders told me that," Baze protested.

"You're not an elder," said Hatyai. "It's all right when they say it. It sounds stupid when you say it."

"I like it when Baze is pompous," said Chirrut. It wasn't entirely clear that he knew what 'pompous' meant. "Maybe _you_ could go, sister. Baze and me could hang out."

Hatyai cuffed Chirrut, to his enormous indignation.

"Come on, Baze," she said.

It wasn't always easy for Baze to decide what to do. He often felt torn between two or more courses of action, and he felt like this now. 

He didn't want to play with Chirrut. Chirrut was too young to be interesting and he made Hatyai snappish. 

Yet Baze's heart failed him when he looked back at the small figure.

"I'll see you later, Chirrut," he called. "At bo practice?"

It was easy to please Chirrut. He lit up. 

"I'll see you!" he echoed.

"You're too nice," said Hatyai when Baze caught up. "He'll get ideas."

"What kind of ideas?

"He'll think you like him."

"I do," said Baze, adding conscientiously, "I don't dislike him."

"I don't even know why he likes you so much," mused Hatyai aloud, but it was a subject that interested neither of them very much. They soon forgot Chirrut in a dramatic expedition to the kyber caves (really a large rock with an overhang they both fit under), followed by an epic war fought with pebbles and twigs.

There was nothing unusual in Chirrut's liking Baze, in any case. The smaller novitiates gravitated to him. Where his peers might snap at a dallying little sister or twist a wayward little brother's ear, Baze found it easy to be patient.

But Chirrut was a little old to follow Baze around the way he did, when Baze – or at least Hatyai – had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't wanted. He was making a nuisance of himself one day when Baze was waiting for Hatyai to be done copying out scriptures. For once Baze lost his patience.

"Why don't you go talk to one of the other novitiates?" he demanded. "You could pest – talk to Zevran. He likes zama-shiwo too."

"I prefer talking to you." Chirrut might as well have said "talking _at_ you". He did most of the talking.

"But why me?" said Baze. He had an idea if that he forced Chirrut to admit that they had little in common and there was no reason for Chirrut to run around after him, Chirrut might stop.

"You're the best," said Chirrut, as though this was obvious.

It was a childish answer, but maybe Baze shouldn't have expected anything else from Chirrut.

"I might do well at – at class," said Baze, because that sounded better than saying 'at everything', which was in fact the truth. "But the elders could tell you there are many novitiates who are better than me at more important things."

Chirrut was already shaking his head. 

"That's not what I mean," he said. "I just mean … you're the best." 

Unusually for Chirrut, he was struggling to express himself. He said, a little desperately, "The Force loves you."

Baze's forehead creased. "The Force doesn't love anyone. That's not how the Force works."

"I know, but – " Chirrut clutched his head. "I don't know how to say it. But the Force is with you."

"The Force is with everyone."

"It's with you _specially_ ," said Chirrut.

This was verging on blasphemy. Oddly, the more outrageous Chirrut grew, the calmer Baze felt.

"Don't let the elders hear you say that, little brother," he said.

"Don't call me that," said Chirrut, though he called Baze 'big brother' all the time. "I'm only a year younger than you. We're almost the same age."

Baze looked down from all the height of ten years old on Chirrut's nine. Chirrut looked very small and upset. He'd gone pink with frustration.

Baze had a responsibility. He'd been dedicated to the Temple for a reason. He thought of his grandmother's gentle hands, his grandfather's straight-backed pride.

"Chirrut," he said. What would the elders say? They'd told Baze so much over the years that it couldn't be that hard to come up with something similar. He searched and found it. 

"I like you too – " the Force wouldn't mind that small white lie – "but there's such a thing as liking too much," said Baze. "You should be thinking of the Force, not of me. You should focus on your studies and your practice. We both should."

A bright idea struck him. The Force must have delivered it.

"Every time you want to come talk to me, maybe you should reflect on a koan instead," he said.

He felt very grown-up and brotherly for about two seconds. Then Chirrut said:

"No. That sounds boring."

Baze glared at him. 

"Or you could talk to someone else," he said, falling back on his first tactic. "You should get friends your own age."

"I have lots of friends," said Chirrut. "They're not as good as you."

"Oh Force," groaned Baze. Behind him Hatyai's voice said, in triumph, "Ha! You do it too!"


	2. 十三歲，十四歲 (Part 1)

Baze passed the first duan at age 12, the second the next year. That was enough to make people start treating him differently – and to worry the elders. He planned on trying for the third duan at 14, till the Abbot called him to her rooms and said:

"Why don't you wait another year?"

Baze looked up from his bantha butter tea, startled.

"Do you not think I am ready, preceptor?"

"It's not a question of your readiness," said the Abbot. "But what's the rush? You don't get a prize for passing the third duan earlier than anyone else. You don't get closer to the Force."

This was typical of the Abbot: she never answered a question directly. It was a style of teaching that annoyed many of Baze's peers, but he was one of the few with the patience for it. He and the Abbot understood one another.

She had a sense of humour, too, which meant certain liberties were possible.

"The Guardians at Palang have a novitiate who passed the third duan at 15," he said.

"And they never shut up about it," said the Abbot. She inclined her head. "That is a temptation, for sure. You know Abbot Nenkuyt and I were in the same meditation group as novitiates? She was given to smugness then too." She sighed. "Yet some things are more important even than annoying her."

"Why do you want me to wait?" said Baze.

"Why don't you come back next week and tell me?" said the Abbot.

Baze meditated on the question. It took him more than a week – his own discontent kept getting in the way. He had enjoyed testing himself in the trials for first and second duan. Perhaps he had also enjoyed the attention that had accompanied his early success. The praise and even the envy.

The envy. Baze was only a small part of the Temple, after all. His rapid ascension had resulted in the straining of some friendships, the solidifying of antipathies. There had been unexpected ripples across all his connections.

Things hadn't changed with Hatyai, of course, but she didn't count. Things would be the same between Baze and Hatyai no matter what happened.

It seemed unfair that he should have to slow down because his accomplishments made some of his peers sour. That required more reflection to get over. The decision he made early on. The extra three weeks he took before going back to the Abbot with his answer were just to free himself of resentment.

The Abbot only nodded when he told her.

"You can relax this year," she said.

"Relax?" said Baze, puzzled.

"Have fun," she said. "Play." She grinned. "Pretend you know what it is to be a child. Do you remember what that was like, Baze?"

Before he could answer, she said, "You know who knows how to play? Chirrut Imwe. Do you still speak with him?"

A little surprised, Baze shook his head. Chirrut had eventually grown out of tagging along after him everywhere. But maybe the Abbot was suggesting that he should have kept an eye on Chirrut. Baze felt a pang of guilt.

"We've both been busy," he explained.

The Abbot laughed and dismissed him, but the exchange stayed with Baze.

He hadn't spent much time thinking about Chirrut in the past couple of years, caught up as he was in his education as a Guardian of the Whills. But Chirrut had been developing a reputation at the Temple. He was an indifferent novitiate in most respects: he had little patience for meditation; he regularly offended his teachers; and his scriptural interpretations were reportedly heretical as often as they were insightful. It wasn't unusual to see Chirrut cleaning the latrines or on night watch duty, in punishment for some transgression or other.

But he made up for all these deficiencies in his practice of the physical aspects of the Guardians' training. Watching Chirrut at zama-shiwo was becoming something of a spectator sport. 

A few weeks after Baze told the Abbot he would delay trying for the third duan, Hatyai said:

"They're doing a martial arts demonstration for the visiting Guardians from Damaris today. You want to go watch?"

Baze practised zama-shiwo conscientiously but without passion. Hatyai wasn't that interested either: she'd already decided she was going to work in the Temple's archives, restoring old sutras.

"What for?" said Baze.

"Chirrut Imwe is performing," said Hatyai. "Apparently he's prepared something worth watching. His age-mates say he's been practising in secret for weeks. Everyone's going to be there."

Baze opened his mouth to say no. He'd planned on studying that evening. But he thought of what the Abbot had told him and found himself saying, "OK."

By the time Baze and Hatyai managed to get through the crowds, Chirrut was demonstrating his close combat skills. He'd got better.

He'd always been good as a kid. He'd even beaten Baze once or twice, despite their disparity in size. But they hadn't sparred in a while, since Baze started outpacing his age-mates, and Baze hadn't had the time while training for the duans to watch other novitiates at their practice. 

He hadn't seen _this_. Chirrut seemed to light up the training ground.

It was a somewhat artificial exercise. Chirrut was still small for his age. That was probably why the fighters from Damaris were running at him one at a time, even though he kept flipping them off their feet.

"They need to test him harder," said Baze.

"What, all come at him at once?" said Hatyai. "Then it would be over too soon. Ah!"

Chirrut had disarmed an opponent in an implausible move that seemed to involve his hands, elbows and knees all at once. He landed back on his feet with a feline's grace, smiling. No wonder the Abbot was taking notice of him.

"The Abbot's taking an interest in Chirrut?" said Hatyai.

Baze hadn't meant to speak out loud. 

"She just mentioned him the other day," he said, doubting whether he had done right. "Don't tell anyone."

"Excuse me, Baze, are you talking to me or a server in the canteen?" Hatyai was saying disdainfully, when Chirrut turned his head and saw them.

His eyes met Baze's. The smile dropped off Chirrut's face. He looked as though he'd been slapped.

Then he raised his head, smiling again, something sharp and joyful gleaming in his eyes. He spread his arms.

With the entertainer's sense of the dramatic, Chirrut waited till the buzz of noise from his audience had died down.

"Aren't you going to offer me a challenge, brethren?" he said to Damaris's novitiates. "At least let me work up an appetite for dinner!"

The rest of the fight was something to remember. The news spread across the Temple, so that by the end of it every servant and novitiate who managed to wriggle out of their chores had joined the rapt audience. Baze even noticed some elders who he was sure shouldn't be there at that time of day.

He thought it an indecent display. It was one thing to seek understanding of the Force via the practice of zama-shiwo. It was even perhaps acceptable to show oneself to be superior to one's brothers and sisters from rival Temples, since that was for the glory of the Temple of NiJedha – a tribute to the teachings of one's elders.

But it was another matter altogether to humiliate one's guests and brethren in the Force. What Chirrut did was too much. Even the novitiates from NiJedha fell quiet after a while, their cheers and applause dying down into an uncomfortable silence.

Chirrut knew he was in trouble, of course. When the Abbot's voice rang out across the field, saying, "That's enough, Brother Imwe, thank you" he lowered his staff, but he didn't look ashamed. He raised his chin, grinning fiercely. 

He was marched off the training ground by a group of disapproving elders, but his back still wore an air of satisfaction.

Even Hatyai was awed.

"I don't think we have enough latrines to make up for that," she said in a hushed voice, as she and Baze walked away.

"I didn't know he was like _that_ ," said Baze. If Chirrut wasn't an orphan Baze might even have wondered if he was about to be sent away.

He would have thought no more of the incident, if the Abbot hadn't summoned him the next day.

"Aren't you going to ask why I sent for you?" she said, after a few minutes' conversation on Baze's studies and the progress of the Abbot's penjing.

The Abbot was extremely bad at tending to her penjing. She was good at most of the things required of a Guardian of the Whills, as one would expect of an elder in her office. She was also known across Jedha for her calligraphy. 

But she seemed to take a perverse delight in displaying her wilting plants in a prominent position in her rooms. They always made Baze's hands itch. He was good at looking after things.

He shook his head. "I assumed you'd tell me if you wished me to know, preceptor."

The Abbot gave him a look of affection.

"The nice thing about you, Baze," she said, "is how _reliable_ you are. What did you think of Chirrut Imwe's behaviour yesterday?"

Baze told her what he thought. The Abbot nodded thoughtfully.

"You are right, of course, on every point," she said. "Do you realise Chirrut did all that to impress you?"

Baze blinked. But the Abbot seemed serious.

"He didn't even know I'd be there," he said. "How could he have planned for that?"

"It seemed he didn't," said the Abbot. "His preceptors designed much of his routine in advance. They know what forms he practised, of course. They watched over his training. None of this included what we saw yesterday."

Baze digested this. He'd guessed there must be some spontaneity in what Chirrut did, but to have pulled off such a feat … several of the moves Chirrut had carried out were moves Baze had never seen before. He'd assumed they were zama-shiwo techniques he hadn't yet learnt. It only now occurred to him to wonder whether they were techniques that anyone had known before yesterday.

"Our little brother must be punished," said the Abbot. "He is in confinement today, though some of the select may visit him." She eyed Baze. "As you say, his conduct was unacceptable."

Baze had said he was surprised to see such behaviour in a novitiate of Chirrut's age. Repeating this would be too much like glorying in censure – or even worse, sucking up to the Abbot. He stayed quiet.

"In spite of that," said the Abbot, "he is attuned to the Force." She shook her head. "Sometimes the most difficult plants turn out the most flourishing."

They both looked at her penjing. These didn't seem particularly good evidence of what the Abbot was saying.

The Abbot's forehead wrinkled. 

"But they require proper attention," she said, still looking at the plants. There was a rare black pine among them – a tree of great beauty, not native to Jedha. It had been a gift from the Abbot of the Temple at Inqra. "Care and nurture. Will you do me a favour, Baze?"

Baze had been tricked this way before. "It depends on what it is."

"Disobedient child," said the Abbot amiably. "Tell me, what favour do I want of you? You may think – " she glanced at the clock – "for ten minutes."

Baze used the whole ten minutes. He reflected, his gaze fixed on the graceful arches of the branches of the black pine.

"You would like me to take over the care of your penjing," he said.

The Abbot sighed.

"Well," she said. "What we want from you is something that cannot be forced – "

"I will do it," said Baze, "if you let me visit Brother Chirrut and speak to him about what he has done."

The Abbot stared for long enough that Baze started to get nervous. He was about to apologise when she burst out laughing.

"Teaching you is as good as an education," she said. "I should know to trust that in all things you will act as the Force directs you. Go, child, and may the Force be with you."

Baze bowed. "May the Force be with you, preceptor."

"And when you see our little brother," added the Abbot, "tell him he should fear every possible consequence for his actions."

Baze couldn't tell whether this was a joke. He wasn't sure the Abbot was right about the reason why Chirrut had acted out, either. Chirrut had been fond of him as a kid, sure, but that had been a long time ago. It was at least three years since Chirrut had last disturbed him and Hatyai during their hour of leisure.

He decided he would leave matters to the Force.


	3. 十三歲，十四歲 (Part 2)

Chirrut's guard greeted Baze as though they'd been expecting him.

"I was wondering when you'd come," said Kesser. They were a novitiate a few years older than Baze. The two of them were on good terms – they'd taken the trials for second duan together. "Hey, will you ask Chirrut how he immobilised that third-duan fighter? I think he pinched her neck, but Londit says it was her shoulder."

"No," said Baze.

Kesser deflated. "You're a stick in the mud, Baze Malbus."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"I'm not allowed to talk to him, obviously," said Kesser. "Go on then. Don't worry, I won't listen at the door."

Baze gave them a quizzical look. "Listen all you want. What do you think we're going to say?"

Chirrut broke off his prayers when Baze entered. From his expression, he, at least, hadn't been prepared for Baze's visit.

Pleasure followed astonishment. Chirrut neither smiled nor spoke, but sunshine spilled across his face. He sat back and looked at Baze as though to gaze on him was a meal in itself.

After a period of silence, Baze said, "I just wanted to see how you're getting along."

"I'm all right," said Chirrut. He blushed. Baze looked away politely.

He was beginning to suspect that the Abbot was right, after all.

"I'm sorry," said Chirrut. His voice squeaked and he swallowed before starting again. "You probably thought I was an idiot yesterday."

"Yes," said Baze.

Chirrut forgot to be shy in his indignation. "You could pretend you didn't."

"You were an idiot and you know it," said Baze serenely. It was coming back to him, how to talk to Chirrut. The kid was easy to deal with, really.

"Nobody at the Temple ever saw anything like that before," argued Chirrut. 

Baze said, "That's a _good_ thing. Listen, little brother – " Chirrut opened his mouth, then shut it at Baze's look – "the elders will have told you off already. I'm not here to scold you. But why did you do it?"

Chirrut looked startled. 

"You must have some idea," he said, after a pause.

"I want to hear it from you."

Chirrut struck most people as being totally forthright, but he could be as slippery as a Moraband serpent when it suited him. 

"Didn't you think I was good?" he said, looking at Baze through his lashes.

Baze rose. "I think I came too soon. You'd better meditate on your actions some more."

Chirrut leapt to his feet, edging towards the door to block Baze's exit. "Why did you come, brother?" 

He was staring intently at Baze. The question seemed to hold some mysterious significance for him. 

Chirrut was really too excitable. Maybe his preceptors should set him more breathing exercises. But that was presumptuous – what made Baze think they hadn't tried that already?

"It's my duty to support the younger novitiates," said Baze. "Offer guidance when needed. You would do the same." _Or will,_ he thought, _when you've grown out of being a lunatic._

He decided not to say it. Not the right time.

Chirrut looked crushed, but it was only for a moment. He threw his head back, as though Baze had issued a challenge.

"I'll leave a mark on you some day," he said. It felt like a promise. Maybe a threat.

Baze sat down so that Chirrut would follow suit, but Chirrut kept hovering by the door, bouncing restlessly on his feet.

"You worry too much about my good opinion," said Baze.

Chirrut shook his head. "It's not too much."

"You don't have to try so hard," Baze continued. "Don't you know I'm already your friend?"

"You're everyone's friend."

"That's as it should be. What more could you ask from me?"

"Don't you _know_?" said Chirrut. He was glaring at Baze, looking almost angry – hurt – though Baze hadn't done anything. 

Baze seemed to have stumbled into an argument without noticing it. Chirrut said passionately, "You're not a distraction. And it's not a passing fancy."

He pointed at Baze – a piece of incivility Baze felt he hardly deserved.

"You watch out," said Chirrut. "I'm going to prove it. The Force is with you, Baze."

This was a perfectly conventional thing for one novitiate to say to another, by way of praise or encouragement. It was typical of Chirrut that he should have made it weird.

Baze might not be the most insightful person in the world, and he wasn't inclined to detect admiration where it didn't exist. But it was clear even to him that Chirrut's childhood attachment had developed into a raging crush.

Baze had had crushes himself. It was natural. Chirrut was being bizarre about his, but perhaps that was only what one should expect from Chirrut.

What was the right thing to do?

"And with you, brother," said Baze gently. 

He held out his hand. Chirrut stared at it as if it might bite.

"If you're determined to prove anything," said Baze, "give me your hand, to show you don't hold anything against me."

"Why would I hold anything against you?" snapped Chirrut.

"You're being punished for what you did," said Baze. He felt embarrassed about what he was about to say, but this wasn't about him. He pushed on. "And you did it because of me."

Chirrut let Baze's hand stay in the air. For a moment Baze thought he wouldn't respond. 

Just in case the Abbot was right, Baze had come up with a whole speech for Chirrut, about the importance of not letting one's emotions interfere with one's actions – how it was necessary to have loving-kindness for everyone – the advisability of cultivating a judicious detachment to one's fellows, who were after all as prone to error as Chirrut (well, maybe not _as_ prone to error, but still culpable). He was lowering his hand in preparation for delivering this when Chirrut grabbed him, yanking Baze off balance.

He pressed a dry kiss to Baze's cheek. Baze felt Chirrut's teeth jar against his cheekbone. Chirrut's nose mashed against his forehead, but Chirrut didn't seem to notice, even though it must hurt. 

He opened the door and shoved Baze out of the cell.

"Leave me alone!" said Chirrut. His eyes were shining as though there was a fever on him. He looked ludicrously happy. "I need to commune with the Force. Goodbye, brother."

The door slammed shut.

Baze stood, blinking.

Kesser's face was working. They said, with an air of surrendering to their own worse instincts:

"It wasn't what you were going to _say_."

The whole thing unsettled Baze, more than he would have liked. He would have confided in the Abbot, but he wasn't sure what to say. He meditated his way into calm eventually, but not clarity. 

Even that calm was shaken when he heard Chirrut was transferring to the Temple at Damaris.

"Why?" he said to Hatyai, who'd conveyed the news. ("How come I'm always the last to know anything?" he'd said to Hatyai once. "Because you're always worrying about unimportant things," she'd answered, "like training.")

"Who knows?" said Hatyai. "Maybe sending Chirrut to the provinces is the elders' idea of punishment. Or maybe our brethren from Damaris enjoy being beaten up. Didn't the Abbot mention it?"

She hadn't, but Baze asked the next time he was in the Abbot's rooms to prune the penjing.

"We concluded Chirrut needs special care," said the Abbot. "I was expecting to have to crawl on my belly all the way to Damaris if I wanted their Abbot ever to speak to me again. But it seems our guests saw something interesting in our little brother. They've developed meditation and scriptural construction to a high level, you know, out in the provinces. Maybe he'll come to know himself better in the quiet of the mountains."

"It's not a punishment, then," said Baze, relieved. It wasn't till he spoke that he realised he'd felt responsible for Chirrut's expulsion.

"If it is," said the Abbot, "it's self-inflicted. Brother Imwe asked for the transfer himself." 

She rose, joining Baze by the row of potted plants. "That tree is coming along beautifully. What did you call it again?"

Baze intervened before she could touch the black pine.

"Preceptor!" he said reproachfully, while the Abbot laughed.

He thought Chirrut understood himself well enough – better than most. If Chirrut had requested the transfer, then he knew what he needed. Baze didn't need to worry about him.


	4. 十八歲，十九歲 (Part 1)

Baze saw Chirrut before he heard he was back. Chirrut was standing in the front courtyard of the Temple of NiJedha, surrounded by friends. Baze knew him at once.

Baze had been somewhat preoccupied before then. The brief Jedhan spring was approaching, the busiest time in the Temple's calendar, and his mind was full of deadlines, rituals, festivals, arrangements.

But Chirrut hit him between the eyes like a brick. All the busy thoughts fell out of his head. He stopped and stared.

Chirrut had finally had his growth spurt. He wasn't as tall as Baze – few people on Jedha were – but he was a good height. 

He was beautiful. This was less to do with his face – pretty as it was, with its broad dark slashes of eyebrows and full bottom lip – than with his spirit, shining through in the way he held himself. His every movement now possessed the perilous grace with which he'd swept through the training ground, the day the Guardians of Damaris came.

That had been five years ago. Chirrut hadn't visited since, though Damaris wasn't _that_ far away. It hadn't occurred to Baze to wonder why, till now.

"Maybe you should roll your tongue back into your mouth," said Hatyai. "Just a suggestion."

Baze started, but his mouth hadn't betrayed him. It was decently shut. He glared at Hatyai.

"You checked," she said. She glanced at Chirrut, half-smiling. "So he's got you too."

Baze said, with dignity, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He walked on, not waiting to see if Hatyai followed. He didn't think Chirrut had noticed him.

Five years was a long time. They were adults now. They'd both put aside childish things.

"You looked like you'd had a vision," said Hatyai. "And you weren't the only one. Can you believe that's Chirrut Imwe?"

"Yes." Baze couldn't quite say, _He looks the same._ He said instead, "I could tell it was him."

"He's changed, hasn't he?" said Hatyai. "Remember how he used to chase us around?"

Baze was still somewhat discombobulated, but he smiled. The Chirrut of his memory seemed so small now. "We could never get rid of him."

"I suspect," said Hatyai, "Chirrut's going to enjoy being the pursued now."

This proved prophetic. Even Baze knew about the effect Chirrut's return had on the Temple. It was impossible not to notice, even for one who avoided gossip. Chirrut made no secret of his affairs. And he had a lot of them.

"Is he planning on sleeping with everyone in the Temple?" marvelled Hatyai.

Sex was not prohibited by the Guardians of the Whills, who believed that people should behave as the Force moved them. Sexual and romantic liaisons were in accordance with nature and therefore the will of the Force.

But there was an expectation that these would be conducted with a certain measure of discretion. The Temple was, after all, a religious order, not a setting for a holodrama. The elders were not prepared for a wayward returnee wreaking havoc with the hearts of his entire age cohort, before moving on to all the others.

Chirrut had always been a little mad, but this time he infected everyone with his particular brand of lunacy. Baze seemed to run into a whispered counselling session around every corner. Every other night someone sprang to their feet in the canteen, shouting something dramatic like, "How could you?" or "I can never trust you again!" before they rushed out, weeping.

The gossip machine went wild. Hatyai had never had so much news to relay before. Baze had to put his foot down and insist that she restrict her disclosures to half an hour a day, before his evening meditation. (He found it disturbed his sleep if it happened after.)

"Why don't the elders do something?" he said in exasperation. "This is ridiculous!"

"Why don't you ask the Abbot?" said Hatyai.

Baze was horrified. "I can't talk to the Abbot about something like this. Anyway," he added, "it's none of my business."

"They say the elders have spoken to him," said Hatyai. "But Chirrut runs circles around them. You know the Guardians at Damaris are famous for their debating skills. He says he's doing nothing wrong. He hasn't demanded anything of anyone. He only goes to bed with people who ask him."

"Surely he can say no."

"It's not for the elders to command him to deny the urgings of the Force," said Hatyai.

Baze rolled his eyes. "I heard that one from the infants when I put them to bed last night. That's the kind of debating they teach at Damaris?"

"To be fair to Brother Chirrut, he's not the one picking fights and crying outside the latrines," said Hatyai. "The problem is the elders can't issue a general decree saying, 'Don't fuck Chirrut Imwe.' It wouldn't sound good."

All of this had nothing to do with Baze. He should act – or rather, refrain from acting – accordingly. He noticed that he was more irritable than usual, but anyone would be irritable who had had the peace of his home disrupted by the incontinence of his fellows.

Life went on much as it had ever done, until Hatyai stopped talking about Chirrut Imwe. Baze might not have noticed the change, except that she didn't do it by degrees. It happened all at once, like a tap turned off.

She stopped laughing when others talked about Chirrut, too. Baze didn't ask, but when she sat him down one day and said, "I need to tell you something" he heard it with a sense of inevitability.

"Yes?" he said.

Hatyai's eyes were always tired from scrutinising ancient texts. She rubbed them.

"Chirrut Imwe's invited me to his bed," she said.

"Ah," said Baze.

It was a little like when he was 15 and Darqan had accidentally stabbed him in the side during a spar. He hadn't really felt it in the moment.

Hatyai pressed her face into her hands. "What should I do?"

"I thought you – " Baze cleared his throat. There was no reason for embarrassment. He'd known both Hatyai and Chirrut all his life. "Don't you prefer women?"

"Yes," said Hatyai, "but even at our age it seems you can find out new things about yourself." She lowered her hands, staring moodily into the distance.

"Chirrut," she said, "has a wild feminine allure."

This was alarming enough that Baze forgot the various unidentified sentiments struggling for dominance inside him. "Do you even _hear_ yourself?"

Hatyai slumped, groaning. "No! Yes. I didn't mean it, don't worry. Did I really just say that? It shows you where my head is at. What should I do?"

Hatyai needed him. Baze tried to focus.

"What the Force tells you to," he said.

Hatyai didn't appreciate his efforts. She snorted. "Don't be a prig, Baze. Seriously, I need advice. I know it's ridiculous, but this is disrupting my sleep. Do you think it'd make it worse or better if I sleep with him?"

"I – " said Baze, but he wasn't going to be able to do this. Hatyai deserved better. "I can't advise."

"I'm not joking," said Hatyai. "Help me out here. I need to decide."

"I _can't advise_." Baze felt panic rise in him.

Hatyai looked at him properly for the first time since she'd sat him down.

"Shit," she said. "Not you too? I saw how you looked at him the first day, but I didn't think – "

Baze said, with wholly manufactured calm, "We are not talking about this."

"No," said Hatyai, after a pause. "No, you're right."

* * *

Baze was not surprised when Hatyai slept with Chirrut Imwe after all. She tried to hide it, but she was terrible at this. The third time she let slip that she hadn't spent the night in her own bed, Baze said:

"I don't actually believe you're going for night-time walks."

Hatyai started like someone had pricked her. "What gave it away?"

"You've always said sleep is the love of your life," Baze pointed out. "You don't have to lie to me, Hatyai."

Hatyai's shoulders slumped. "I just didn't want – " she said. "It won't change anything between us?"

Baze raised an eyebrow to show what he thought of this. Hatyai bumped her shoulder against his. In practice this just meant the spur of her shoulder drove into the flesh of his upper arm, but Baze appreciated the thought.

Neither of them had had much experience in hiding anything from the other, so it wasn't surprising that Hatyai had sucked at it. Even the things they didn't talk about were things that were understood between them.

Except, maybe, for how Baze felt about Chirrut. Hatyai didn't ask – maybe out of a sense of delicacy. Maybe because she didn't want to know.

He would've had a short answer, though. He had no idea.

It turned out that sleeping with Chirrut Imwe did not make things better for Hatyai. It made her more distracted than ever. Hatyai was good at not doing things she didn't want to – this was one of the chief differences between her and Baze. But all her usual rules of conduct seemed to break down in this particular situation.

This didn't stop her from complaining.

"I almost tore a palm-leaf manuscript today," she said, looking haunted. "A rare text. It would've been brought to Jedha by a pilgrim." She scrubbed her face. "This has to stop."

Baze couldn't make the obvious suggestion.

"Why does it upset you so much?" he said. He didn't mean the manuscript.

Hatyai understood him. 

"I don't know!" she said. "It's not that I'm in love with him. I don't even really like him."

"What's wrong with him?"

"With Chirrut Imwe? Where to start?" said Hatyai. She sighed. "There's nothing wrong with him. It's just that he's not especially interested in me. It offends my pride."

Baze didn't understand anything. "Then why – never mind." He didn't want to interrogate Hatyai about her love life.

"He's perfectly civil," said Hatyai. "Nice, even. The sex is great, he – "

Baze held up a hand. "You can stop there. Let's stick to feelings."

"Right. Sorry," said Hatyai. "I was just going to say, it's all fine, except he's not really _there_. Maybe whatever they did at Damaris messed him up inside." She glared at the tea Baze had made her. "Not the outside. His outside is fine."

"Hm."

"This is so embarrassing," groaned Hatyai. "It's a judgment on me, for having laughed at all the other suckers."

Baze couldn't point out that continuing to sleep with Chirrut would probably make her confusion worse. That would imply advice as to a particular course of action. He couldn't ask her why she didn't stop: that too had implications he did not feel he was in a position to make. He could agree that Hatyai shouldn't have made light of the hurt feelings of their brethren, but it seemed better just to change the subject.

"The Abbot's asked if I'd be interested in going off-world," he said.

This made Hatyai sit up. "For mission work?"

"And training," said Baze. "She said she could arrange a secondment to the Jedi Temple at Coruscant."

Hatyai whistled. "Really? You favoured son." Her gaze turned speculative. "Are you sure there's nothing in my theory?"

"I'm sure I am not the Abbot's illegitimate child. You've met my parents."

"You don't look much like your dad."

Baze took after his mother's side, but they'd had this discussion before. He rolled his eyes.

Hatyai wasn't being serious. She was just dealing with the news in her own way. After a moment she said, "Are you going to go?"

Baze got to his feet, opening a shutter. The moon was a nail paring in the sky, pure and impossibly white.

He loved the Temple. Jedha was all he had ever known. But he was young, and there was a great galaxy out there, waiting to be explored.

"I'm thinking of doing it," he said.

"You'd come back, though." There was just the slightest thread of uncertainty in Hatyai's voice.

Baze glanced back at her. "I'm pretty sure I'm too old for the Jedi to be interested."

Hatyai shrugged. "Who knows? You're six feet of unalloyed good. It's no wonder Chirrut liked you when we were kids."

Baze realised he'd been half-waiting for Hatyai to bring up Chirrut's old childhood crush again. Part of him wanted to be reminded of it – to be persuaded it had once existed. Knowing this about himself vexed him. He said irritably:

"You're kidding. You sound like he did back then."

"Now that's an insult," said Hatyai, who had heard all about Baze's awkward conversation with Chirrut before he left for Damaris. "Look, Chirrut is wrong about a lot of things, but he wasn't wrong about looking up to you." She clasped her hands, resting her chin on them. "I wonder … "

Baze waited.

"His behaviour is bizarre," said Hatyai. "Even for Chirrut. He always played well with others before. Don't you think it's unlike him to be so reckless with people's hearts?"

It was unlike the Chirrut who had gone, to the extent that Baze had known him. 

"Damaris might have changed him," said Baze. 

"Or maybe he hasn't changed that much," said Hatyai meaningfully. 

But Baze only half-heard her. He wasn't really thinking of Chirrut anymore. Hatyai's reference to hearts had him worried.


	5. 十八歲，十九歲 (Part 2)

Chirrut didn't seem to notice Baze until he cleared his throat. Chirrut's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't say anything.

It was probably good luck that Baze had managed to find him alone during their hour of leisure. No doubt Chirrut usually had guests.

"May I speak to you?" said Baze.

"Of course," said Chirrut, after a pause. He was sitting on his bed. He didn't rise.

Neither his face nor his voice gave anything away, but his body was wound tight, as though he was about to spring. Baze could tell, because it was an unseasonally warm evening. Chirrut wore only a light robe and linen trousers, the kind one slept in.

Maybe Chirrut was always like this. If so, that explained Hatyai's emotional state. Being around all this tension for any amount of time must be stressful.

Baze sat down opposite Chirrut. He hoped this wouldn't take long, but it was a matter of some delicacy. Either he'd mess it up in a matter of seconds and be out on his backside, or they'd still be here hours later, wrangling.

He might as well get to the point.

"I came," he said, "to ask you to stop … courting … Hatyai."

Chirrut lifted his head. His eyes gleamed. "Oh yes? Why?"

Baze didn't have many reasons that wouldn't betray Hatyai. 

"You told the elders you only bed people who ask," he said.

"I'm not allowed to ask?" said Chirrut.

"You're allowed to do anything, so long as it is in accordance with the will of the Force," said Baze, adding, "Within reason."

"I don't remember _that_ condition in the scriptures."

Baze didn't let this put him off. He had something to say to Chirrut, he realised. The need to say it had been growing in him since Chirrut's spectacular return, and he wasn't about to waste this opportunity.

"You're being unreasonable," said Baze. "Your conduct has sent the Temple into chaos."

Chirrut had been near-vibrating with suppressed excitement, but his mood seemed to darken at this. "Did the elders send you?"

"What? No," said Baze. 

He regretted telling the truth at once. Chirrut's expression changed again. Now he looked avid, tigerish.

Baze had known how to deal with Chirrut, once upon a time. It had been simple. But now …

The problem was that everything about Chirrut was distracting him. Chirrut's room wasn't large, and it smelled of him. When they were silent, Baze could hear Chirrut's breathing. 

He wished Chirrut would stop staring at him. He barely seemed to have blinked since Baze had arrived.

"Does Hatyai know you've come to me?" said Chirrut.

Baze decided to switch up his tactics. There was a lot more he could say on the subject of Chirrut's unreasonableness, but it was more important to get Chirrut's agreement before he fled with his tail between his legs.

"No," he said. "But I wanted to ask you, as a favour, not to, er – " 'bother' would probably offend Chirrut – "I mean, to leave her alone. She's training for the third duan and she wants to be made up to Archivist. She doesn't need distractions right now."

"Hatyai could tell me herself if she wanted me to leave her alone."

Baze held Chirrut's gaze. "She could."

"Some might say this was unwarranted interference on your part," said Chirrut.

Baze felt like a rodent hypnotised by a Sith snake. It had been a bad idea to meet Chirrut's eyes. He couldn't look away.

"Maybe," said Baze.

Chirrut leant back against the wall. Baze could see his collarbones.

"I asked her over tonight," said Chirrut. "It'll be troublesome to send her away. I don't like going back on my word." He looked Baze up and down, insolently. "What will you do for me if I agree?"

Baze was not completely stupid. He could guess what Chirrut wanted.

He swallowed. This had turned into something he hadn't planned for. Yet part of him had hoped for this. Had been hoping for it since Chirrut reappeared.

He wasn't about to feel guilty. He did not doubt his own intentions. He was not here for himself.

"There is nothing I can offer," he said steadily. "Human relations are not commodities to be bartered. You could do what I ask for friendship, or because it's the right thing to do. There's no currency I can use to pay for what I ask."

This was not the answer Chirrut was hoping for. His mouth twisted.

"If I told Hatyai that you'd come to me," he said, "if I told her what you just said, how do you think she'd react?"

"She'd be angry," said Baze. "But she'd get over it. In time."

"You'd say you had the best of intentions, no doubt," said Chirrut. "That you're doing this for her own good."

"I don't know," said Baze. He'd meant it to sound contemplative, appropriately detached, but it came out raw. He said helplessly, "I don't know what I'm doing."

Chirrut's eyes flicked up to his, startled. Baze's vulnerability seemed to strip a layer of inscrutability from him, revealing something of the boy Baze had once known.

"There's something you can offer," Chirrut said in a low voice. "You could return what I gave you. Before I left."

"What you gave – " said Baze, puzzled. Then, "Oh."

Chirrut was talking about the kiss. It was ridiculous and would doubtless offend Chirrut if he knew, but Baze had actually forgotten about the kiss until now. The main thing he remembered about their exchange was Chirrut making common platitudes sound like a combination of threat and pick-up line.

He didn't recall much about the kiss, now that he thought about it. It had been so fleeting. He wondered how much Chirrut had thought about it in the intervening years.

Chirrut lifted his chin. "Are you going to do it or not?"

His tone was cocky, but his eyes were afraid. This made Baze forget his own trepidation. He took a step forward and put his fingers under Chirrut's chin, pressing his lips to Chirrut's defiant mouth.

He could hear Chirrut's sharp intake of breath, as though even with all his taunting he hadn't really thought this would happen. Then he uncoiled off the bed, shoving Baze against the opposite wall, kissing him, kissing him.

This was very different from before. Chirrut was breathing as though he'd run a race. He leaned his weight against Baze, forcing him back against the wall, running his hands over Baze's arms, his chest, his sides.

"You got so _tall_ ," said Chirrut. He sounded drunk. Baze kissed him again, he couldn't help it, but then Chirrut groped his ass, squeezing it with disquieting boldness.

Baze came to himself. He pushed Chirrut away.

"What is it?" said Chirrut.

"I've returned what you gave me," said Baze. "And more." Chirrut's mouth was red. Baze thought he might have bitten Chirrut's lip by accident. He averted his eyes. "Will you give me what I asked for?"

"Is that why you did it?" 

Chirrut was hurt. Of course he was. Baze had made a mess of this. He thought of Hatyai and steeled himself. "I have responsibilities, Chirrut. Loyalties I owe."

"Then why wasn't _I_ – " Chirrut's voice broke. "Why did you never – "

"What?"

"You know what I've wanted," said Chirrut viciously. "I never hid it. I made it clear to you for years - since we were kids - "

"If you wanted me," said Baze, "why didn't you just come and tell me, instead of – all of this?"

"I promised myself this time, you'd come crawling to me," said Chirrut, adding with triumph, "And it worked!"

"Well," said Baze, but it would just drag this out unnecessarily if he pointed out he had walked in unimpaired dignity all the way from his room to Chirrut's. 

How should he handle this? Age had made Chirrut no less weird or intense. It had just made him unmanageable.

What had the Abbot said, back then?

"Chirrut," he said. "What you want from me is something that can't be forced."

It was painful to see Chirrut's face crumple. Baze had to remind himself it would be worse to make Chirrut promises he wasn't sure he could fulfill.

"You're saying you don't … " Chirrut swallowed. 

Baze waited. 

"You don't love me back," said Chirrut.

"Love I have for everyone at the Temple," said Baze.

"Don't give me that bullshit," snarled Chirrut. "You love the Abbot more than the other elders. You love Hatyai more than Sister Darqan who stabbed you during training."

"How did you know about – "

"To love all equally is to be equally indifferent to all," said Chirrut. "The Force doesn't require apathy of us."

Baze gave into temptation. He reached out and brushed Chirrut's lips with his thumb, his fingers fanning out across Chirrut's cheek and jaw.

It was effective. Chirrut shut up, his eyes wide and dark.

"I'm not apathetic about you," said Baze. 

He could feel Chirrut's pulse in his throat. It was racing, rabbit-fast. Baze lowered his hand.

"I haven't always understood you," he said. "But I do now. You are right that in this you haven't changed since we were children."

Chirrut said:

"I thought about you every day. Every day I was at Damaris. The thought of you accompanied me to sleep. I would look at the moonlight at the foot of my bed and think of you. You were home to me."

Baze was deeply moved. For a moment he didn't trust himself to speak.

He must be careful. He owed it to Chirrut.

"I want you," he said. Chirrut lit up. "But it would be wrong to act on that."

"Why?"

"It'd be unfair to you."

Chirrut was smiling. "I'd be fine with it."

"And," said Baze, "it would debase me."

The light faded out of Chirrut's eyes. His lip curled. "Do you think my conduct has debased me?"

"Not you," said Baze. "You can do what you like, Chirrut … within reason. But these matters are different for different people. For me, to make love to you, knowing how you feel about me, and not knowing whether I had the same feeling for you – that would be dishonourable."

It was hard to say these things, knowing he would hurt Chirrut. But it was the right thing to do - even if it didn't feel, right now, like the kind thing.

"I didn't think about you when you were gone. Now … " Baze exhaled. " _Now_ you've left an impression. But I don't know how I feel about you. You make it hard to think."

"That must mean something," said Chirrut.

"No offence," said Baze, "but I'm not taking any suggestions from you on what it might mean."

Chirrut bristled. "Why not? I have experience in these matters."

"You also have a vested interest."

A thought struck Chirrut. He looked alarmed and suspicious. "How many people have you slept with?"

Baze gave him a look, but Chirrut seemed serious. "I'm not telling you that."

"I want to know."

"What would you even do with the information?"

"Maybe I would seduce them," said Chirrut. He hadn't given up. He was pushing at Baze the whole time, still. He raised his eyes to Baze's, challenging him. "Kiss the lips you kissed. Press myself against the bodies that touched yours."

"That," said Baze, "is really inappropriate."

"My feelings for you are not _appropriate_."

"Yeah, you didn't need to tell me that." Baze glanced at the door. He'd been here long enough that the light had changed. They'd exhausted their free hour. "I should go."

"What for?"

"I'm working in the kitchens this evening."

"Kiss me again," said Chirrut.

Baze paused at the door. He wanted to. 

"A bargain," he said aloud. "If I do it, will you promise to stop … " What could he call Chirrut's style of courtship? It was impossible concisely to describe the mayhem he'd been causing. "Will you give me some space?"

"I can promise to leave Sister Hatyai alone," said Chirrut, "but not you."

Baze sighed. "It can't be forced, Chirrut."

"It won't be," said Chirrut. "You'll give yourself freely. I just need to try harder."

 _Force preserve us all from you trying harder,_ thought Baze. The Temple would probably explode.

His silence must have expressed something of this feeling.

"I know I don't deserve you," said Chirrut. "You're too good for me, but you're too good for anyone. I'll break you down, or break myself on you."

Baze shook his head, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or groan. "You're being ridiculous. This is not how a Guardian should talk."

Chirrut said, with casual arrogance, "Maybe that's true for you and the others. But I'm a different kind of Guardian from any who's gone before. I can talk how I want." He narrowed his eyes.

"Just as I can fuck everyone in the Temple and stay pure," he said. "Because I'm yours."

This was not only wrong-headed and callous, but heretical. He shouldn't indulge this, Baze told himself, but he turned anyway. 

He had the element of surprise on his side. Chirrut wasn't expecting him. He pressed a kiss to Chirrut's cheek, a gentler one than Chirrut had given him, all those years ago. He pulled back before Chirrut could do anything.

"There," said Baze. "That's free. Take it as a gift, brother."

Chirrut was struck speechless. He stared at Baze, all the fight drained out of him. His whole heart was in his eyes.

"Baze … "

Baze had to go. It wasn't safe to stay … and he was already late. The dinner shift was always a nightmare.

"Goodbye, Chirrut," he said.

* * *

Baze always meant what he said.

It had been a useful exchange, even if it didn't have the result he'd hoped for. Hatyai still seemed to be going on night-time walks. Maybe Chirrut was hoping to provoke Baze into action, or possibly Hatyai had found someone else, though Baze would've expected to have heard of them if that was the case.

It didn't really make a difference. If Baze stayed at the Temple, he would sleep with Chirrut, probably sooner rather than later. Once he did that, neither he nor Chirrut would have much time or attention to spare for anyone – or anything – else.

Chirrut might have spent much of his life chasing Baze, but he was made for better things. So was Baze. He didn't actually want to tip over into madness just now, especially as he wasn't sure what the end of it would be – whether he would find that he reciprocated the depth of feeling Chirrut bore for him, or whether he would wake up one day, hollowed out, washed up on the shore after the storm of desire had receded.

He meditated on his decision, but it was made the evening he spoke to Chirrut. Reflecting on it only refined it.

Apart from anything else, by entering into a liaison with Chirrut, Baze would risk hurting Hatyai. She knew she was in the grip of a temporary derangement, but knowing it wouldn't help. If Baze gave in, Hatyai was smart enough to figure out that Baze had always been Chirrut's ultimate objective. She probably already guessed it.

There were certain rules of conduct by which one had to abide, within a friendship. The best course was to put himself out of the way of temptation.

A week or so later, he told the Abbot he'd decided to go off-world. She blinked.

"Are you surprised?" said Baze.

"No," she said. "Maybe. Remind me, how long will you be gone?"

"At least three years. Not more than five."

"A long time. Whose bright idea was this?"

"Yours, preceptor."

"Of course," said the Abbot sadly. She hadn't really forgotten. It was her way of saying she would miss him. "One makes one's own problems." 

She paused, looking at the penjing. There was no longer even the pretence that these belonged to the Abbot, though they lived in her rooms.

The black pine was particularly handsome. All it had needed was a little care.

"It'll be good for you," she said.

"You'll look after my plants," said Baze.

"We'll manage well enough without you," said the Abbot. Her tone was reassuring, though her eyes on the penjing were a little doubtful. "Go with the Force, child."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chirrut's declaration refers to the only Chinese poem I know (apart from the one about lions and stones), Li Bai's [静夜思](http://www.chinesetolearn.com/famous-chinese-poem-%E9%9D%9C%E5%A4%9C%E6%80%9D-jing-ye-si-quiet-night-thoughts-%E6%9D%8E%E7%99%BD-li-bai-lyrics-pinyin-english-translation-bright-moon-mountain-moon-shan-yue-ming-yue-chuang-be/) (English translation at the link).


	6. 二十九歲，三十歲

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: canon-consistent references to war and injury; also off-screen death of original character(s)

Baze's sojourn away from home ended up taking a little longer than three years, or even five. The Abbot hadn't planned for war breaking out across the galaxy.

The Guardians of the Whills hadn't planned for a lot of things. 

By the time he got back to Jedha, Baze hadn't thought of himself as a Guardian in a while. But he couldn't throw off a lifetime of training, no matter how hard he tried – even with the world doing its best to help.

He had seen horrors beyond description. But the sight of the Holy City being gutted by Imperial ships still brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

Seeing Chirrut was even worse.

What shook Baze was how little he'd changed. He hadn't aged as much as Baze, whose face bore lines carved by anger and grief – marks of war that would only be smoothed out by death.

The destruction of everything they had once known sat lightly on Chirrut. He still wore his Guardian's robes. The main difference was his eyes. They made Baze feel as he had done when he'd first heard about the Abbot's death.

It seemed there wasn't an upper limit on how many times a heart could break.

He was sure he hadn't made any noise. He certainly hadn't spoken. Yet Chirrut raised his head suddenly, looking like a questing hound. His monk's serenity fell away, something hungry and familiar taking its place.

"You're back," he said.

"How did you know?" said Baze.

He sat down opposite Chirrut on the threadbare cushion provided for his customers. It was familiar, down to the mystic symbols on the cushion cover. Every fortuneteller had the same. Chirrut lacked the usual umbrella, but then the sunlight wouldn't make him squint.

He was still capable of getting sunburn. Baze would get him an umbrella.

The market was the same. Sort of. If one ignored the Imperial troopers with their blasters.

This was the sacred quarter of NiJedha, which was presumably why Chirrut had staked out his place here. It had once been the case that you couldn't even bear a naked blade in this part of the market. The butchers and fishmongers operated in a different zone.

"The Force knows you," said Chirrut. "It's been a while, Baze Malbus. Your friend said you were only going for five years."

"Things have been a little difficult," said Baze.

Chirrut was more beautiful than he'd remembered. Suffering had tempered him to a finer edge.

He'd always been stronger than Baze, after all. Baze hadn't realised that he still had any faith in the Force left to lose until he saw Chirrut's eyes.

"Can I talk to you about my friend?" he said.

Chirrut didn't answer straight away. Maybe Baze shouldn't have come to him. There were many reasons why Chirrut might not want anything to do with him.

"Yes," said Chirrut finally. "But not here."

* * *

"I don't know where Hatyai is," he said, once they were alone.

Amazingly, Chirrut was still living on the Temple grounds. This row of cells had stood downwind of the latrines; they'd been inhabited by a mix of the most junior, most unruly and most pious of the novitiates. Baze's theology hadn't required him to volunteer to take a room here, but at least the latrines were gone.

So was most of the building, but it didn't do to be too picky. Chirrut's cell had four walls and a roof, with most of their original insulation. Baze had stayed in worse places.

He let out a breath. He hadn't thought Chirrut would know, but part of him had hoped … "You haven't heard from her."

Chirrut shook his head. "She went missing in the year 2662."

So many of them were missing, more than were confirmed dead. At least nobody had yet heard of a Guardian of the Whills collaborating with the Empire.

"We became good friends when you were gone," said Chirrut. "Especially after I … " He paused. "Got injured. Hatyai was very good to me then."

"I know," said Baze.

Chirrut was doing a good job of appearing inscrutable, but Baze suspected his reappearance had pushed Chirrut off-balance. Once in a while the Chirrut he'd once known showed through the cracks. This Chirrut said, "You know?"

"We were in touch," said Baze. "Until the Empire clamped down on communications out of Jedha. I last spoke to her in the year 2660."

He hadn't known if Hatyai was dead or alive after that. Hadn't known about Chirrut either. He'd been trying to find his way home anyway, but losing that lifeline to Hatyai had accelerated the process. He'd lost a few more of his remaining scruples, taken a couple of jobs he might not have accepted otherwise.

He wouldn't have wanted to tell the Abbot about those jobs. But the Abbot was dead.

"You were _speaking_ – " said Chirrut, a little too loudly. But he choked down the rest, regaining his composure. "I haven't heard from her since she decided to leave the city."

There was a _but_ hanging in the air. Baze said, "You spoke of her in the present tense. As though she's still alive." 

"I don't know," said Chirrut quickly. "But we agreed she wouldn't send me any messages. The Empire knows me – I drew attention to myself, working with the Rebellion. They monitor communications. Nobody knew of Hatyai, that's why we thought it might work. The Empire isn't interested in the sutras. I'm not sure anyone's even realised they're gone."

"The sutras went missing at the same time," said Baze.

Chirrut nodded. "It wasn't easy to persuade her to go. But the Force did not shape us all to be fighters. Someone had to preserve what we knew, for whoever remains after the fighters are gone."

Jedha wasn't large as worlds went, but it was still an entire world. There were mountains where one could lose oneself – places, high up and hidden away, where there was no kyber, little vegetation, not much of anything except thin air and peace. Nothing to interest the Empire. Chirrut would know these as well as anyone could, from his time in the provinces.

Baze felt his face doing something unfamiliar. It was a smile.

"She always cared more for those manuscripts than anything else," he said.

"Not more than about you."

The thought of Hatyai, still alive and fussing over her rare palm-leaf manuscripts, brought some of his old self back to Baze. He said absent-mindedly, with humour, "A little more."

They'd both cared about the wrong things, he and Hatyai. But they hadn't known any better. The Temple had sheltered them too well. They'd got the wrong ideas about the world, Baze especially.

He'd thought ideas mattered more than anything else. He should've hung on to what was really important. People.

He could have had years with the Abbot.

Chirrut had always been good at turning Baze's thoughts outward from himself. He did this now, by saying:

"You never got in touch with _me_."

His pettishness amused Baze. "Why would I have done that? Part of the reason I left was to stay away from you."

Chirrut's head swivelled. " _What?_ "

"Didn't you know?"

"No," said Chirrut. "No, actually, I did not know. Did Hatyai know?"

"Of course," said Baze. "I told her." To be accurate, Hatyai had told him, and he had confirmed it. That was the way it had been between them.

"Why didn't she tell me?" said Chirrut, outraged.

"I asked her not to," said Baze, but he'd assumed Hatyai would have let it slip at some point. "But I only didn't – I would've written, if I'd known you were interested."

"If I was interested," echoed Chirrut. He'd lost all appearance of serenity by now. They might have been teenage novitiates again, instead of battle-scarred warriors. "That was why you left? Because you wanted to avoid me?"

"I would've done something irrevocable if I'd stayed," said Baze. "Besides, I wanted to see the galaxy."

"Something irrevocable," said Chirrut grimly. "You mean, like this?"

Baze should have been better prepared. It was the last time he underestimated Chirrut because of his blindness. 

He swept Baze's feet out from under him with his staff. Baze fell, startled, but his old training kicked in. He landed well, rolling onto his side, but before he could get his guard up Chirrut kicked him in the chest, sending him onto his back. Chirrut straddled him, pinning his arms.

Baze decided not to offer a fight. Chirrut didn't actually want to kill him.

Chirrut was surprisingly heavy. He had bulked out, though the robes had hidden it until now. Baze wasn't sure he'd be able to break away, even if he resisted.

Something shivered up his spine at the thought. It wasn't fear.

"You still want me," said Chirrut. He ground deliberately against Baze.

Definitely not fear. Baze slid his hands up Chirrut's thighs.

"You're going to fuck me," growled Chirrut. "I don't care how you feel about me."

He was behaving very badly. A wave of tenderness swept over Baze. 

"I love you," he said, looking up at Chirrut.

Chirrut froze. "What?" His grip slackened. 

It would be a good time to throw Chirrut off, if Baze wanted to get away.

He didn't.

"I love you," he repeated. "You're home to me."

Chirrut was still for long enough that Baze started to worry. Then he went loose, all the tension emptying out of him. He rolled off Baze, collapsing on the floor. 

"What's wrong?" said Baze. 

He was calm. He had feared at first that Chirrut no longer felt anything for him, but that little display had removed his doubt.

Baze wasn't a teenager anymore. The old intense attraction had mellowed into a gentler feeling, more profound.

Resentment stirred within him, pointless as it was. He'd spent most of his life listening intently to the Force and it had never told him anything useful. If he'd known himself sooner, maybe he wouldn't have left. He might never see Jedha at peace again.

"I don't know what to do," said Chirrut.

Baze raised himself on his arm so he could look down at Chirrut. Chirrut looked perplexed.

"You were waiting for that, weren't you?" said Baze. "Isn't this a strange reaction?"

"You," said Chirrut, "are extremely vain, do you know that? What makes you think I care what you feel? I haven't seen you in more than ten years and now you just turn up, expecting – " He couldn't say that Baze had shown any sign of expecting anything in particular from Chirrut. He said with dignity, "How do you know you're welcome?"

Baze coughed. "I didn't. But you kind of confirmed it just now."

Chirrut wasn't giving in. He pursed his lips. Baze thought of kissing them, but it struck him that it would be interesting to see what would happen if he said:

"It's a good thing I didn't sleep with you back then."

He was pleased when Chirrut's head whipped around.

"Good?" Chirrut was furious. " _Good?_ The time we lost … ! I could have had you every way I imagined by now. I've imagined a _lot_ ," he added.

Baze was laughing. Joy opened out his chest. He wasn't used to it anymore.

"It would have been wrong then," he said. "It would have hurt Hatyai. And I was confused, I couldn't think clearly around you. If we had, back then … I probably would have ended up hurting you."

"You did hurt me."

Baze went quiet.

"If you'd warned me you were going to leave," said Chirrut, "I would have restrained myself. I would have done anything for you."

He believed what he was saying. Baze didn't. He wasn't sure the Chirrut of that time had been capable of that level of self-restraint.

"Yeah, right," said Baze. "If you'd been warned you probably would've poisoned me to keep me from going."

"Maybe. Would that have been so wrong?"

"It wasn't just about you," said Baze. "I had other reasons." Stupid reasons. He didn't say so. He'd believed in them back then. More importantly, so had the Abbot. They'd both meant it for the best.

"Anyway," he said, "I'm not sure I could have restrained myself. I probably would have started something, if I'd stayed."

"And that would have been such a bad idea," said Chirrut, "because there were so many valid objections to our being together. Oh wait, there weren't! They were entirely invented out of your own head. You just thwarted the will of the Force for 20 years, for no reason at all."

"Don't tell me you were in love with me 20 years ago," said Baze. "I knew you then, remember. You couldn't even meditate alone without a light."

He'd forgotten for a moment, but Chirrut turned his face towards him, so that Baze saw his eyes again. They wrung his heart. As a child Chirrut had been scared of the dark.

"17 years, then," Chirrut was saying. "I remember when I first wanted to kiss you. I was 12 and you were laughing because Hatyai had finally beaten you at bo practice. Anyone else would have been embarrassed."

Baze remembered that moment. He and Hatyai had both been so delighted. He hadn't known Chirrut was watching. "She always found zama-shiwo challenging."

"She got better," said Chirrut. "I taught her. She admitted you were wrong to leave, in the end."

Baze could imagine the arguments he'd had with Hatyai. She would've been too loyal to admit that Baze had been an idiot.

He touched Chirrut's face. "I'm sorry."

It was moving to see how easy it was to mollify Chirrut. He melted under Baze's palm.

Some time later, Chirrut said, "You've broadened out."

He was running his hands over Baze's chest. He said dreamily, "I didn't think you'd get _bigger_."

Baze shrugged. "Ran in my family." It was a little weird to be talking about his family when they were both naked, but … "You got them off-world."

Chirrut's hands stilled. "How did you know that?"

"Just because I wasn't in touch doesn't mean I wasn't paying attention," said Baze.

Chirrut's eyes were fixed on a point above his left ear. 

His eyes. They were still beautiful.

"I wish I could see you," said Chirrut.

"You want to?"

"You'll have changed." Chirrut sounded wistful.

He'd touched quite a lot of Baze by now, but he hadn't particularly lingered on the face. Baze took his hand and placed it on his cheek. Chirrut explored his face carefully, fingertips skimming Baze's eyebrows, tracing the curve of his eyes.

"Wrinkles, at our age?" he said.

Baze was smiling. "We're not young anymore."

Chirrut sniffed. "Maybe _you're_ old," he said disdainfully. "Can I kiss you?"

"Now you're asking?"

"Now," said Chirrut, "I think you'll say yes."

Baze thought of being kicked in the chest. "You don't deserve that I say yes, after how you behaved."

"I don't deserve you," said Chirrut seriously. "But that's fine, isn't it? You've known all along."

Baze shook his head. "I have changed, Chirrut. In ways you won't like."

"You think I don't know you're an apostate?"

The word hurt, despite everything. "How did you hear about that?"

Baze had never had to defend himself to Hatyai. She'd gone through a similar process of disenchantment. By the end he wasn't sure she believed in anything written in her beloved sutras. It was the objects themselves she loved, their age and their beauty: 

"They don't have to be true to be precious," she'd said.

"I had my ways of keeping track too," said Chirrut. He caressed Baze's ears. "We can fight about it later. You're still you."

Baze caught Chirrut's hands in his own. "I wish I'd been here," he said. "When."

When it had happened. When the Temple fell. When the Empire had stolen Chirrut's sight, as it had robbed them of everything else they loved.

Almost everything.

"You can say that again," said Chirrut acerbically. "It would have helped if you were."

The weight of guilt in Baze's chest became almost crushing. "Would it?"

"Baze, you're not paying attention," said Chirrut. "Everything would have been better if we'd never been parted. I don't know how else I can _tell_ you."

This was the one thing Baze would never understand about Chirrut. 

"What – " he said, but he wasn't even sure how to phrase the question. This lifelong obsession couldn't really be about Baze. It had to be about something else. What did he represent to Chirrut? What did Chirrut want from him?

Chirrut wasn't interested in answering questions, however. He kissed Baze. When they came up for air Chirrut said, as if to reassure himself, "But you're here now."

"Yes."

"You won't go again."

"No, Chirrut," said Baze. "I'm home now. If I leave, it'll be to follow you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise Jedha is itself a moon. But I have given it its own moon because it would mess up my themes if there were no moon. There's nothing in astronomy to prevent this, as far as I know.
> 
> The title is, of course, from [月亮代表我的心](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bv_cEeDlop0), most famously sung by Teresa Teng. I feel it's the sort of thing Chirrut would sing at karaoke without any irony whatsoever.


End file.
